


Our Pace

by ryukoishida



Category: Free!
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Haruka’s breakdown and confrontation with Rin in the locker room, Makoto finds his best friend sitting alone in a small park nearby. He watches from afar, helpless but wanting to help, to be there for him. So Makoto does the only thing he still knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Pace

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 9 broke me so I need to write this to make myself feel better.

            When Makoto finally sees the familiar figure of his best friend sitting forlornly on a park bench close to the natatorium, his eyes staring at something before him that Makoto cannot see, Makoto releases a breath of relief and slows down his jog to a walk.

 

            Haruka sits motionless, face pale and hands restless in his lap, fingers fidgeting ever so slightly and his frame has seemingly become smaller in the span of half an hour since he last saw him and Rin shouting at each other in the locker room.

 

            Makoto stops mid-step, hidden by a towering keyaki tree, wanting to step forward but not wanting to startle him or scare him away. Haruka shouting is a rare sight, but Haruka roaring in anger – the docile dolphin suddenly baring its sharp teeth unexpectedly when he feels threatened and trapped – is almost unheard of, and as Makoto witnessed the exchange between Rin and Haruka, and saw that dangerous electric blue flashing menacingly with the mask of ice and wall of steel shattered, Makoto almost finds his best friend... frightening.

 

            Almost like a stranger.

 

            Makoto doesn't like to think of him as a stranger – couldn't – because they are too close, too entwined in each other's lives, and a small part of him wonders why Haruka didn't voice out his problems long before his breakdown (the image of him standing in the middle of that pool –50 meters in length and 25 meters in width of water with nine other contestants, and Haruka stopping in the middle of that endless, bottomless man-made ocean, alone – tugs at Makoto's heart. It twists and pulls, like a fragment of himself is being ripped off and forced to drown along with Haruka).

 

            They are childhood friends, and most of the time, Makoto can read Haruka's mind like an open book. Not this time though.

 

            Makoto knows he should have pushed a little harder, be a little more insistent, but that's not his way, and he understands that Haruka has his own way of dealing with his problems as well. He's an independent young man, even since he was a child. That's one of the many traits that Makoto has always admired about his friend. Who knew that it would also one day become his downfall – the source of his demon, the cause of his nightmare?

 

            He wants to help him, but doesn't know how. He wants to say so many things, but knows that words can't express the desperation he feels. He wishes to extend his hand and pull Haruka out of the silk-like claws of the treacherous waters that have always adored and accepted him until that moment, like it's the easiest – the most familiar, the right – thing to do, but knows that he can't.

 

            Not this time.

 

            Makoto is unable to do anything, but there is one thing he knows he can do right now.

 

            Without another moment of hesitation, Makoto steps out of the shadow of the tree, late afternoon sunlight splashes across his skin like a warm, gentle sigh as he treads with quiet, steady footsteps towards the lone figure on the little park bench, and settles next to him.

 

            Neither of them speaks at first. Rustling leaves whisper secrets to each other, and distant chatters carry a hypnotizing white noise; it's enough to fill in the silence between them.

           

            "I'm sorry you had to see that," Haruka starts in a small voice, his hands stilling and fingers clasping together as if that's his sole anchor for keeping him sane; instead of looking forward, his head lowers to stare at his hands, unblinking. Makoto isn't sure whether he's referring to the disaster that was the 100-meter freestyle race, or the locker room scene; perhaps he's talking about both.

 

            "Haru..." Makoto wishes his friend would look up just once – wishes that the light of those brilliant eyes will never turn dull and spiritless as they did when he was standing alone yet not alone in that pool. "You don't have to apologize."  

 

            "I just - " Haruka stops, his breath shaking along with his slim body and Makoto wants nothing more than to envelop him in his arms to steady him, to tell him it's allright to fall apart because he will always be there to pick up the pieces and hold him together. "I don't know what came over me. My mind kept reeling back to the nightmare I had the night before, and I tried to stop thinking about them, but they just – I can't stop. They won't stop!"

 

            "Nightmare?"

 

            Haruka nods, hands clenched into fists as the flight of images and sounds flood his mind: the daunting cheers of faceless crowds, his friends and their perverted, cheerful smiles and shallow expectations, the blank-faced puppet swimmers, and the scouts, like a murder of crows, staring at him with those greedy, beady eyes, and that endless, endless fall... He thought he'd never hit the ground; he thought he'd never wake up. Haruka doesn't know what's worst: being trapped in the terrifying nightmare, or living a life caged by strict rules and suffocating, unrealistic expectations.

 

            "Why didn't you tell me?" Makoto's tone is far from accusatory, his eyes and voice only full of warmth and care and worry.

 

            Haruka's brows pucker slightly, the only sign of his unease. "I didn't want to worry you or the others, especially not right before the races." He finally looks up, but Makoto doesn't like that strange, vacant light in his azure eyes or the empty, half-smile on his lips. "It's enough that one of us ends up drowning; I don't want to become everyone's deadweight."

 

            'But you're not,' Makoto wants to tell him, wants more than anything for his friend to understand. "You're wrong, Haru." His voice is deep with resolution.

 

            "Makoto?"

 

            "You're not deadweight," Makoto tells him, earnest eyes glaring back with such strong sentiment that Haruka has a hard time maintaining his gaze, wishing to look anywhere else but at those bright, honest eyes. "You're anything but. Every time you swim, you always amaze me – us. It's like you're flying – the way you move your limbs so naturally and gracefully through the water. It's - " He stops, realizing that he's speaking too much, revealing too much, and he inhales a slow, shuddering breath, reminding himself to take a mental step back.

 

            The only thought that has Makoto wilfully halting his hand that's itching to reach out for Haruka's is the possibility that his friend might push him away. Makoto has no way of knowing how he'd respond, and he's afraid to find out – afraid to take that step to close the pathetic distance between them, unsure of how they have unknowingly begun to stray on different paths.

 

            "But not this time," Haruka reminds him with a sad smile.

 

            "No," Makoto agrees, his gaze dropping to his lap, where his hands are settled on his thighs.

 

            "If you're worried about my performance for the medley relay..." Haruka murmurs.

 

            "Damn it, Haru!" Makoto's unexpected outburst causes Haruka to scoot back half an inch, eyes blinking rapidly, the sunlight stealthily slipping through the green foliage that seems to be too bright all at once. "That's the last thing I care about right now."

 

            "Then why are you here?" Haruka asks, suddenly timid, as if afraid that if he dare to speak any louder, it would cause Makoto to shout at him again.

 

            "I - " _I want you to tell me what's wrong_ , Makoto thinks; _I want to know what to say and what to do to make you feel better_ , Makoto thinks; _I want you to know that I care about you and I'm here for you, always_ , Makoto wants to say but doesn't.

 

            The words that are trying to escape from him are stuck in his throat in trepidation, and with a moment of unnatural pause, Makoto continues in a calmer tone, green eyes wandering to focus on something behind Haruka before settling on his companion, "Because I want to make sure you're alright."

 

            "I didn't want any of that – the attention, the scouts, the expectations – Ididn't ask for any of that!" Haruka's voice grows louder with conviction and bolder with every syllable, blue irises glowing dangerously bright once more, and they feel strange and hot. It takes the dark-haired boy a full second before he realizes that his eyes are not, in fact, on fire, but that tears are blurring his sight – his best friend's face shimmering before him, filtered by light and water – and for the first time in years, Haruka lets tears flow freely down his cheeks.

 

            "I know," Makoto whispers, and seeing Haruka finally breaks down completely like this – teardrops streaming down his flushed cheeks and frame shivering like a scared child being woken up by a haunting nightmare – the strength in him dwindles. The mask he has been wearing so well and fitting for the past few years cracks at last, and as the pieces of pretence and longing and aching love crumble around him and fall away, Makoto feels a weight has been lifted off from his heart and he can breathe again. He can easily – as easily as pulling him out of the water since they were children, like it was the most natural thing – reach forward, a careful thumb gently brushing away Haruka's tears as he leans closer.

 

            With only a few meagre millimetres between them, they can feel each other's breaths warm and a little uneven against their skin.

 

            "I just want to do the right thing," Haruka tells him, eyes searching for something – approval? kindness? pity? – on Makoto's face. The confusion that is so rare in the usually impassive and confident swimmer stirs a storm within Makoto, and all he wants is to restore that quiet calm and happiness Haruka always finds in the freedom of swimming in the boundless waters.

 

            "I know," Makoto says again, a hand, still wet with Haruka's tears, winds to the back of his neck, brushing the soft ends of his hair there, and he pulls the other boy towards himself. Haruka goes with him, the movement fluid, without struggle, wanting and needing that solid warmth. 

 

            "Are you regretting what you did?" Makoto whispers against the top of Haruka's head, every breath he takes sends bursts of air through inky strands of hair that still smell faintly of chlorine.

 

            Haruka shakes his head, doesn't say a word, and Makoto only tightens his embrace around him, feels the other boy exhaling in slow tremors and his body lax within the protective circle of his arms.

 

            "Rin is angry at me," Haruka says, words muffled by Makoto's shirt as his head is still hidden in the crook of the taller boy's shoulder.

 

            "Because you never told him," Makoto chides softly, remembering Rin's perturbed expression as he half-playfully complained about how he can't possibly know what Haruka's thinking if he doesn't say anything.

 

            "Rin's lucky," Haruka's voice is so low that it almost gets buried under the summer breeze and distant traffic noises.

 

            "Hmm? What do you mean?"

 

            "It's nice to have a dream – areason – to work hard towards to, isn't it?" His hands are lightly wrapped around Makoto's biceps as he pulls himself away from that welcoming, familiar presence. The icy gap that now seeps in between them again is not a stranger to Makoto anymore, but Makoto lets him go, arms retrieved and falling back to his sides, empty, aching to touch.

 

            "Haru, you're only seventeen," Makoto smiles that smile – kind, overwhelmingly kind and warm like nothing else Haruka knows. "It's okay if you don't have an immediate goal yet; it's okay to get lost and search and discover for awhile before you find a definite dream you want to chase after."

 

            "I..." It's too much, the molten green of his irises and the sweet curve of his lips – spilling over the edge, that swelling emotion whenever Makoto looks at him that way. "I see."

 

            They grow quiet, though it's not an uncomfortable silence. It's just one of the things they're used to sharing.

 

            "Come on," Makoto stands up, stretches his arms over his head with a sigh, and extends his hand out – a gesture so simple, so ordinary, but it represents everything that Haruka needs. "Let's go back to the others before Nagisa decides to call the police."

 

            "Okay." Haruka lets Makoto pulls him to his feet, a small smile on his lips.


End file.
